


Body

by Zadkiel_2020



Category: Clone High
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Boys In Love, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:21:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27055606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zadkiel_2020/pseuds/Zadkiel_2020
Summary: School can be hard, harder for those who get breathless just thinking about the crowded hallway and scrutinizing glares of the other students. The whispered remarks and the pages full of words you can never seem to understand. It's not all bad though, well, that all depends on your own story doesn't it.OrVincent doesn't like school, its a dangerous place. Constant fear for eight hours of your day isn't exactly enjoyable. He meets a boy though, a boy that would never and should never give him the amount of attention he is right now. JFK is pretty straight forward, but sometimes its hard to find out if his antics are supposed to be funny. JFK makes the school days a bit more bearable.
Relationships: JFK/Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	1. Written In The Water

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic is basically one huge vent fic? Sorry if the characters aren't exactly the same as how you view them, I'm taking some creative liberties.

It was the first day. By no means should it be this difficult on the first day. His heart was racing just thinking about it, all the people and their glares and the teachers with their judgement. He had yet to leave his bedroom, perched on the edge of his bed scratching insistently at the back of his hand.

The clock was ticking away on the corner of his desk, he didn't want to look at it because he knew every minute that flicked past on that electronic screen was another minute closer to his mum coming in to tell him shes ready to drive him. It was getting harder to breath, tears threatening to fall as he tried to will himself into a calmer state so he could at least get a bit more prepared for the day ahead of him. It worked, only a bit, the tears crept back into his eyes and stopped threatening to flood with every pained gasp Vincent made, and his breathing slowed to a relatively steady level. He was still shaking, small tremors in his legs and hands, but that was tolerable. He could work with that. 

Slowly he moved to stand, legs wobbling slightly under the weight of his small frame. He looked himself over in the mirror that stood beside his bathroom door, his hair was a mess which seemed to only be held together by the bandage tied securely around his head, his face was red and small oval shaped wounds scattered the back of his hand from where he had been scratching. _People will notice_ , his brain informed him, t _hey know you're a mess they're waiting for you to break this will make them push harder_. He physically shook his head, as if to shake out the little voice and make it disappear for a while.

His classmates did know he was a mess, that much was obvious, he'd had his fair share of meltdowns that they all got to witness through the windows of the office, then again had they not witnessed it themselves word still travels fast. Unfortunately they also all happened to have studied the life of the first Van Gogh, they all know how he turned out and they all expected the same from him. Everyone was waiting at the edge of their seats, like they're at a blockbuster movie, hoping to catch the moment Vincent finally loses it. 

It doesn't matter in the end really, Vincent's come to terms with the fact hell end up just like his dad, he just wishes people would be more concerned than excited. It was at the end of that thought that Vincent heard the punctuating knock at his door. His foster mother opened the door just enough to peek her head through.

"Are you ready to head off?" She had a sympathetic smile on her face, she knew how difficult school was for Vincent but she also had decided that school was important. For what reason, he didn't know. She must be aware, just as well as everyone else, that he'll be dead before hes 20.

Reluctantly he nodded, moving away from his mirror to pick up his school bag and follow his mother out the door and out to the car. He felt his heart rate pick up, faster with every step he took, but there was nothing he could do. If he turned back, his step mother would just turn him back around and drag him there anyways, and if he panicked it would just delay the inevitable. He took a deep breathe, it didn't work much to calm his nerves but his breathing stopped being painfully fast, and if that was the best he could get then he was fine with it.

He sat himself down in the passengers seat of his step moms car, careful on the crush his bag as he maneuvered it between his legs to sit on the floor. it was filled with almost half his paint supplies and two of his canvases, that stuff wasn't cheap and though it didn't bother him to ruin it, he didn't want his step mom to end up having to pay for replacements. The car rolled forwards out of the driveway and down the road, the scenery wasn't anything amazing it was the same cookie cutter houses plastered side by side down the road, but Vincent still took the time to analyze everything they passed on their way. Focusing his attention out the window distracted him from the destination. If he went far enough into his head he could almost imagine they were driving somewhere else, living somewhere else, like he was just _someone else_. 

Of course, as the car slowed to a stop and Vincent brought himself back to reality he was in fact still there, with the same destination and the same stupid fucking fate. He heard his step mom wish him a good day but he couldn't bring himself to pay much attention, he still waved goodbye as he stepped out of the car and watched her drive away. Another deep breath, to prepare himself before turning around. The minute he came face to face with the towering school he felt like the smallest man in the world. He couldn't do it. He couldn't _walk in there, it was too much and too fast and he knew what was going to happen already_ _and-_

"Could you move?" A voice cracked him out of his thoughts, he whipped his head around to see who the voice belonged to. A girl with short red hair and dark makeup stood beside him, giving his a confused but not malicious look. He recognized her as Joan, he'd seen her a few times in the hall hanging out with Abe and his friends. 

"Y-yeah, of course, sorry." He stepped out of the way, cursing himself for the way he stumbled over the words as they left his mouth. The girls face, still confused, got washed with concern as she heard Vincent's response.

"Are you okay?" She questioned, sounded genuinely worried. She must be able to see the panic in Vincent's eyes. _You're radiating emotions,_ his brain told him, not being much help for the situation. 

"I'm fine." He said the words with much more anger than he meant to, he felt bad as he watched a mildly hurt expression replace the confused one from before as Joan raised her hands into the air in a surrendering motion. 

"Alright, jeez, I was just asking." She lowered her hands. "You've got English first period, right? I'll walk you there." 


	2. How You Remind Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to be able to tell you guys a specific schedule for my updates but unfortunately I am an absolute mess of a human being and cannot properly collect myself well enough to make any promises, so for the foreseeable future updates will be completely random but hopefully once or twice a week (I would also love if someone would be willing to help me out with editing, as in spelling and grammar corrections as well as making sure sentences actually make sense! No previous experience is required and frankly i don't even care if you're good at it I just tend to be too busy to do it myself)

He wasn't sure why he agreed to walk with Joan. It wasn't something that he would usually be on board for, preferring to keep to himself to avoid any painfully embarrassing moments that tended to follow along when he decided to mix himself with other people. When the question was asked he had been too taken aback to respond with the answer he should have; no. He responded instead with a curt nod, it was a knee jerk reaction. It wasn't that he didn't want to go with her, because he did, but he was weary of her intention. There was no way for Vincent to know what she wanted out of this, she could be doing this to humiliate him, or to gain his trust, or the most preferable answer yet least plausible, be his friend.

No matter her reasoning, Vincent now found himself trailing behind the red haired girl as she maneuvered their way through the crowded hallways. Vincent was set less than comfortably on the extremely sharp edge of a serious anxiety attack, he felt the numb feeling crawling up his fingers and the noise around him was quieter than it should be as it was drowned out by a swarm of voices in his head. Each one said something different, it was nearly impossibly to understand them as the mixed together coming closer and farther away without even being able to see them. They were hushed voices, but loud enough he couldn't focus on anything else, it was like a colony of bees had built their hive in his frontal lobe. 

"Vincent-" He was once again ripped from his thoughts, hearing the sound of his own name. Vincent and Joan had come to a stop in front of a few lockers, Vincent realized very quickly that the whole group was now all eyes on him. In a circle surrounding the section of locker stood Joan, Abe, Gandhi, Cleo, and JFK. Every single pair of eyes was looking directly at him, as if expecting him to say something. 

"Vincent? You've met my friends before right?" Joan asked him, filling him in on the question he had previously very obviously missed. 

"Briefly." He nodded. He hadn't really met them, not formally at least, but hes shared more than a few classes over the years with most of the group. His hands were still numb and he could still hear a quite murmur of voices, but he shoved his hands in his pockets and put on a small smile hoping Joan wouldn't notice anything and try to bring it up in front of everyone. 

"Nice to meet you for real then, Van Gogh." It was Abe who spoke this time, flashing a smile at Vincent. It felt genuine, Vincent caught himself gaining a bit of hope, maybe Joan and her friends weren't actually planning anything bad at all. He shouldn't get his hopes up though, and he quickly shoved that sliver of hope away, reminding himself that getting attached wouldn't do himself any good. 

"JFK has the same English class as us for first period, so hes gonna tag along." Joan motioned to JFK, who flashed a shit eating grin before waving. 

"Speaking of which, uh, we should probably get going now." As JFK spoke, Vincent was a bit taken aback by the peculiar Boston accent. He had heard JFK before obviously, but having that voice directed towards him was two things, first of which being ridiculous because he sounded like a large child, and second being oddly comforting? When JFK spoke, looking at Vincent with that stupid smile, Vincent felt a little ball of warmth build up in his chest. With that new warmth creeping in, the voices seemed to fade away, the comfortable feeling coming to take their place in his head. Vincent felt a bit stupid for feeling so good about a simple sentence. 

JFK wrapped his arm around Vincent's shoulders and began walking down the hall, Vincent having no choice but to shuffle along beside him as Joan led them to the English room. Vincent was uncomfortable no doubt, but he didn't have the panic that would usually accompany him when someone would get too close or touch him as JFK was doing right now. He didn't even know what to say, or where to put his hands, or what facial expression to make. All he knew was that he felt comfortable around JFK, he definitely didn't trust him because everyone knows that guy usually has a motive behind his actions, but he felt safe being so close to him. _Like the rest of the world cant touch us from here,_ his brain filled in, perhaps being the least self deprecating thing his brains ever told him. _This wont last long, so lets enjoy the kindness while we can._

* * *

First and second period went by fairly quickly, English had been much more enjoyable with Joan and JFK cracking whispered jokes the whole time, and second period had been art which Vincent could never really be upset about. It was all going much smoother than he had expected, until of course lunch hour came around and he was forced back into the sea of students without the life jacket of a friend. As he left the art room, he found himself scanning the crowd for Joan, hoping to see a flash of red hair that he could run to for cover. Of course, no Joan was found so Vincent reluctantly began tunneling his way between people trying to make it to the cafeteria as fast as possible. Just as he was about the reach the doors, his shoe hit _something_ which caused him to fall directly onto his bag which he had been clutching to his chest. Vincent lifted himself onto his knees and turned to look at the man who had tripped him.

"Sorry Van Gogh," Gandhi laughed, "I didn't see you there." The smile on his face betrayed his words, Vincent knew it wasn't an accident. There was now a circle of people gathered around, he could hear their snickers and whispered remarks and he felt tears beginning to well up in his eyes.

Without giving Gandhi a response, Vincent collected his bag off the ground and headed back away from the cafeteria towards the washrooms. Once he arrived he promptly locked himself in one of the stalls and sat himself down on the edge of the toilet, clutching his bag to his chest once again to ground him. A sob racked through him as he finally breathed in, having held his breath the whole way to the washroom as to not attract anymore attention with his crying. 

It felt as though the world was being torn away from around him, he couldn't process where he was all he knew was this _hurt._ His chest was so tight and his legs were jumping rapidly making a tapping noise against the tile which just stressed Vincent out more. He didn't like the noise, he wanted everything to be quite, he wanted the muffled voices from the hall to go away, he wanted his legs to stop shaking so the clicking of the tiles would go away, he wanted the quite rumple of the radiator and the vents to just _go away_.

His remembered the art supplies in his bag, quickly throwing himself along with the bag onto the floor to open it up. inside the large main pouch was a mess, half of his paint tubes had broken, a colorful pool of paint now splattered the inside of his bag ruining just about every paper or work sheet that was in there. He could feel his heart beating, through his finger tips and up his neck which Vincent could swear was fucking closing in at this point. He was so frustrated, why did this always have to happen to him, he didn't do anything to make himself deserve this. He felt like any moment now his throat would completely close up. _The wall behind you is tile._

Without a second thought, he sucked in a gasp of air and smashed his head back against the wall. The force of the hit stunned Vincent for a moment, it was a blissful moment where everything just stopped hurting. Until it started again, this time with a burning pain in the back of his skull from the impact. He wanted to smash his head again, it took just about everything in him to not throw his head back in hopes maybe it would just knock him out. 

He heard the door to the bathroom swing open, causing him to quickly latch a hand around his mouth to quiet the sobs. The footsteps coming in through the door slowed down in front of Vincent's stall as another louder sob escaped through his hand. He didn't want anyone to come in. He didn't want anyone to see him like this on the first day especially over such a stupid reason. He was overreacting, he knew it, it was one fall it didn't matter that much. That didn't stop his brain from making it a big deal though, and he wasn't strong enough to fight against his own head. 

There was a soft knock on the stall door, making Vincent jump slightly. He wasn't ready to face anyone like this, he wanted to disappear. 

"Are you alright?" That stupid fucking Boston accent. JFK is gonna make fun of him, hes gonna tell all his friends and then Joan isn't even going to want to be seen around him. 

Obviously Vincent didn't answer, instead trying to figure out the fastest possible escape route. He could crawl under the stall door, but the next stall over isn't locked so JFK could easily see him, or he could open his own stall door and push past JFK and book it out of the bathroom but Vincent was much smaller and less fit which means JFK could catch up to him pretty fast. 

"I uh, know you're there Van Gogh. I can hear you. Joan uh, sent me in to talk to you. She saw you run in here earlier." Joan sent him? He still didn't fully trust Joan, but he also didn't have much of an option here. JFK could still tell everyone about this, even if Vincent didn't open the stall door, he could make up whatever story he wanted and Vincent would be done for. A little voice in the back of his head supplied him with the point, _you're screwed whether you open the door or not, may as well go for it._

With a shaking hand, Vincent reached up and unlocked the stall door, watching with tear blurred vision as it swung open to reveal the concerned face of JFK on the other side. Slowly JFK moved into the stall, approaching like Vincent was a startled animal that would flee at any moment. The boy sat down cross legged, leaning forwards slightly to get a better look at Vincent's face.

"Could you, uh, tell me what happened?" 


	3. My Ordinary Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact I actually named the title and every chapter afters songs in my playlist. Today's song is by The Living Tombstone, you've probably heard it on TikTok a few times. Anyways, Thank you all so much for the support I've gotten so far, I love reading comments and all the ones I've gotten so far have been so amazing! I am also still looking for someone to proof read and edit upcoming chapters, just comment if you're interested!
> 
> Also, this is a very dialogue heavy chapter and I struggle a lot with that so sorry this took so long to publish! (It also took me so long to finish this very short chapter that I have decided to not even proof read my own work so I am truly sorry in advance)

It all poured out, everything that had built up through the day came falling out between shaking sobs. He doesn't know why he even started talking, he didn't know JFK and JFK probably didn't want to be hearing any of this, but he kept going regardless. At this point even if Vincent wanted to stop talking he doesn't know If he even could, as words stumbled out of his mouth he wasn't even sure if it made sense but it felt good. It felt so good to just let it out, not care about what the other person thinks just say everything that he needed to say. As the sobs calmed down and his thoughts started to make sense, JFK finally decided to speak.

"I'm sorry, Van Gogh." He seemed visibly upset, eyebrows furrowed and the look of guilt in his eyes. Suddenly, Vincent felt himself being pulled into a hug. 

"Why are you sorry?" Vincent was confused. JFK wasn't the reason he was crying, sure he'd made a few hurtful comments in the past but that's what everyone did. He couldn't be faulted for that.

"You shouldn't have to deal with that, you're a nice guy. I know I'm not uh, one to preach on this, and I know I've been a dick to you before, but none of this is your fault. It's highschool this is just what kids do, they bully and pick fun at people to be funny without really uh, thinking about how it makes the other person feel. I'd never thought about it before." JFK let go of Vincent, leaning back and averting his gaze. "I know I'm not uh, the best with words but I hope you understand."

Vincent felt that warm feelings come back, bringing a small smile to his lips as he stared at JFK. 

"Thank you, JFK." He said, wishing he could just reach out and hug him again, not wanting to let the comfort of that hug go.

"Do you, uh, wanna get ready for class? The bell is gonna ring soon." He stood up, offering a hand to Vincent, which he took happily and stood up as well. 

"Not really." Vincent shook his head, "I think I'll stay in the library until class is out." 

"Why don't you come with me to the Grassy Knoll? I was planning on leaving after lunch anyways, at least you could keep me some company." It was a simple question but it made Vincent's heart swell, even after JFK had witnessed his meltdown he still wanted to hang out? He knew it could be a trick, but he really didn't see what about this offer could be deceitful. It wasn't like he was bringing any of his friends along, and Vincent really didn't want to hang around in the school all day. 

"Sure, I guess." Vincent agreed.

With that JFK gave Vincent a stupid grin and began leading him out of the bathroom and down the halls. Vincent didn't even realize they were still holding hands until they reached JFK's car and finally let go. It was around this time that Vincent also began to get a little nervous. He'd never blatantly skipped school before, usually when he didn't want to be in classes he was just hiding somewhere on the school grounds, but this was different and it made Vincent's hands tremble as he opened the door to the red convertible. 

The seats were a soft leather, Vincent sat in the passengers seat with this shoulders bunched, trying to focus on the odd texture of the seat as he rubbed his thumbs over it to calm his nerves. This shouldn't be as big of a deal as he was making it, JFK was nice enough to invite him out and he didn't want to fuck it up by having some panic attack on the way. As the car jumped to a start, Vincent found it easier to calm down with the rumble of the engine gently shaking the seats. 

"You seem nervous." JFK stated, glancing over at Vincent as he drove. 

"I've never skipped school before, at least not like this. It feels like I'm about to get in trouble any minute." Vincent smiled weakly, gaze averted down towards his feet.

"I do this all the time, it's really no big deal. We're highschoolers, it's basically our god given duty to skip school." JFK punched Vincent's shoulder to punctuate his sentence.

"So is this why you always seem to disappear halfway through the day?" Vincent looked up this time, JFK was looking straight at the road and Vincent took the opportunity to try to memorize the look of concentration on his face. 

"Yeah basically. The school could care less, and my foster dads don't care as long as I pass all my classes." JFK paused, "Is there anything I can call you other than Van Gogh? Not to be rude, but that doesn't exactly roll off the tongue too easy." He laughed, most likely to make sure Vincent knew he wasn't trying to be mean. It was still kinda mean.

"Vincent, my first name. I'm not sure why more people don't call me that, I'm well aware 'Gogh' isn't exactly the easiest thing for people to pronounce." Vincent let out a small laugh.

"Vincent it is then, you can call me Jack. I mean some people call me John but that makes me sound like some weird old guy, so I like Jack a lot more." Jack finished speaking as they arrived at the Grassy Knoll, getting out of the car and walking around to open Vincent's door. Fairly surprised, Vincent gave Jack a confused look as he exited the vehicle.

He felt Jack reach over and grab his hand as they entered the diner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick PSA, this wont be one of those stories where all of a sudden hes in love and none of his mental issues matter anymore because that's not reality. They will get better, just as in real life sometimes finally having someone around can make you feel a bit better, but that doesn't remove the fact that depression and anxiety are medical issues that a new boyfriend cant magically fix. I'm only saying this because I don't want to lead anyone on with false expectations and i also want everyone to know that you cant rely on other people to make you better. You need to be the change in your own life, you'll never be happy until you're happy with yourself and you truly love yourself, and nobody can do that for you. No matter how sexy your significant other is.


End file.
